Hear Me Roar
by LordTheo
Summary: AU. Instead of the Greyjoy Rebellion, Tywin Lannister rebelled against the Iron Throne. Joanna Lannister did not die giving birth to Tyrion, and Tywin had another son named Tybolt. How will his presence change events in Westeros? Eventual OC/Sansa.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: ASOIAF rights belong to George R. R. Martin. This is Fan Fiction. I own nothing but the character I have created._

_**Hear Me Roar**_

Tywin Lannister, Lord of the Westerlands and King of the Rock, looked out upon the sea of men that were camped outside the gates of Casterly Rock from the window of his solar. One year ago he had declared himself the King of the Rock, as his forebears had been known before Aegon's Conquest; but he, the great Tywin Lannister, had underestimated King Robert Baratheon and his appetite for war, and his forces had been killed, captured or pushed back to the ancestral seat of the Lannisters and he was slowly becoming more and more convinced that the only way to save the lives and reputation of his family was to surrender to the host amassed before him. If he did that, then maybe the Strong Stag would stay his hand and allow the Lannisters to survive.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by the appearance of his youngest son, Tybolt. Tybolt was tall for a boy of six years, with the emerald green eyes and brilliant golden hair of the Lannisters. His handsome face, framed by his wavy, shoulder-length, mess of golden hair, lit up when he saw his father. Running over to him, Tybolt embraced his father, nuzzling his head into the older man's chest once Tywin bent down.

"Tybolt." he said, resting his head upon his son's head. "What brings you up here?"

"I came to see the bad men Father." he replied innocently as he looked up at his father's face. "Are they going to hurt us?" he continued, a worried look spreading across his face. Tywin hesitated a moment before answering his son.

"Not if I can stop them my son. Not if I can stop them." he said, his expression betraying his fear.

Tywin stood, turning to the guards stationed at the door. "Send a herald to the leader of their army. Tell them that I am willing to discuss terms for our surrender."

"At once, Your Grace." the guard said, turning to carry out his master's orders.

At his father's words, Tybolt's worried look turned to one of indignation. "But Father! We must not surrender to them! We are Lions and Lions do not bend the knee to lesser men! You told me that!" he cried, tears welling up in his eyes.

"I know. And it is true. Lions do _not_ bend the knee to lesser men. But we must also ensure that our pride survives, and if we continue to fight then our pride will die. And the Lions will be no more. So you must understand why I do this my son...my heir. You must understand that surrendering to Robert Baratheon will allow our family to survive and hopefully flourish." he said seriously, looking his young son in the eyes. Tywin could net help but notice how similar in temperament Tybolt was to Joanna, his wife. "_Joanna...beautiful Joanna. My wife. My love. Oh how I wish you were not taken from us...from me. From our children." _he thought wistfully. She had died four years ago, when Tybolt was two, from a fever that had torn through her body and left her as a dried husk of her former self. _"That is why I must surrender. For our children Joanna, you must understand that what I do, I do for our children."_ Tywin thought, begging his dead wife's memory to understand.

As he talked to his wife in his head, the guard burst into the room having come as fast as he could, bearing news for his King.

"Your Grace. Robert Baratheon says that he will meet you." he panted, gasping for breath.

"Very well." Tywin muttered, before turning to his son. "Tybolt, you must accompany me. You must be there to learn what it is like to taste defeat. I hope that by seeing the dishonour it brings, you will learn never to underestimate your enemies." he said to his son. Then Tywin knelt next to his son, comforting him. "Tybolt you must be strong in front of them," he said as he wiped the tears from Tybolt's face, "and you cannot show any fear. You will rule the Westerlands one day and no one can be allowed to doubt you. Least of all your banner-men, and they will all be there to witness the surrender. Do you understand?"

Tybolt sniffed, straightening his back. "Yes Father. I will be strong."

"Good boy. And know this my son...you may be taken from me as a hostage, to ensure my good conduct if they accept my surrender and allow me to keep my head. If you are, then you must not cry and you must not look weak. You must accept it, as I too must accept it, with grace and display no sadness. You are a Lion and no one can think that you are weak." Tywin said, gathering his son into a hug.

"I will do as you say Father..." Tybolt said with a sob.

"I know you will." Tywin said sadly. "Now then. Let us go and meet the famous Strong Stag." he said as he stood, taking his son's hand in his own and walking out the door.

…

Lord Eddard Stark stood in the Great Hall of Casterly Rock waiting for Tywin Lannister, the self-styled King of the Rock. Although he was surrounded by his guards and the guards of his closest friend and King, he could still not help but feel vulnerable; after all, Tywin Lannister was not known for his honour. But it appeared that he would be unharmed for the time being, as the Lord of Casterly Rock strode through the doors to his hall, followed closely by someone that could only be his son. The boy had the famous Lannister features, with golden hair and dazzlingly green eyes, and a proud and regal look upon his face. Eddard noticed how similar the boy looked to his father, and how proudly he carried himself. Yet despite the boy's behaviour, Eddard could see that the boy had been crying; that is if the puffy eyes were anything to go by.

"Tywin Lannister." Robert Baratheon said in a voice filled with loathing. "You are a traitor. Tell me now why I should not take your head. Or your son Jaime's head. Or even this one's head!" Robert shouted furiously, the famed Baratheon fury surfacing.

To his credit, the defeated Lannister did not look away, nor did he appear fazed by the outburst. Instead he stayed calm and collected. "Because the West can only be ruled by a Lannister. A Lannister male. And the Lords would never accept my other son Tyrion." he said, in an iron and emotionless voice. Despite his own reputation as a cold man, Eddard shivered at the cold reply.

Robert grunted, wanting it to be bravado, but deep down he knew it to be true.

"Very well. I will not kill you. I'll even let you remain Lord of Casterly Rock. But your rebellion will not go unpunished. You will pay the crown three million golden dragons or I will mount your head on the walls of the Red Keep. Do you understand?" Robert commanded.

Tywin was relieved that he only had to pay recompense; three million dragons was a small amount compared to the wealth of the Westerlands and he would keep his son. Tywin moved to kneel before Robert, but Robert opened his mouth to continue.

"Your son here, will also be taken as a hostage to ensure your compliance until he has his eighteenth name-day. Lord Stark will foster him at Winterfell." At those words, Tywin's hopes were dashed. His son would be taken from him after all.

"Very well." he whispered. He knelt in front of Robert and hung his head in shame. "I, Tywin of the House Lannister do accept these terms and accept you as my King." Once Tywin had finished his oath, he stood and turned to his son, betraying no emotion. Robert turned and walked out of the hall, followed by his Kingsguard. Eddard remained, watching the former King and his son.

"Remember, you are a Lion and the Lion does not concern himself with lesser men." Tywin said before walking away. He stopped for a moment however and turned to face his son once more. "Farewell, my son." Tywin said before finally walking out of his hall, defeated and alone.

Eddard went over to the boy to lead him away from his home, and perhaps to comfort him if he needed to. He reached out his arm to hold the young child's shoulder, but was violently pushed away by the boy.

"Do not touch me _Lord Stark." _Tybolt spat, with hate that was unbecoming for a child of his age. But then again he was being taken away from his home. "I am a Lion and as such do not need your help." he said. At that, Tybolt straightened his back and, with his head held high, walked out of the Great Hall and towards his future. As he watched him go, one thought was prevalent in his mind. _"He's going to be trouble."_

**Hi guys, a new story here. If you like it leave a review, and if you think that I could make improvements then just let me know.**

**Don't worry I haven't abandoned "A True Baratheon", I just got writer's block and this helped me get over it. The next chapter for both stories should hopefully be out by the end of the week.**

**Thanks for reading guys, I really hope you enjoyed it!**


	2. Chapter I

**Italicised speech is thought.**

_Ten years later..._

Tybolt sat on a window sill looking down on the castle with emotionless, discerning, emerald-green eyes. He had sat here every day at the crack of dawn, since his arrival at Winterfell, to watch the sun rise over the horizon. From his commanding position near the top of the highest tower in Winterfell, his view encapsulated much of the land south of the Stark's ancestral seat of power and yet he looked only in one, single direction: to the Westerlands, to the Rock, to his home. It had become a ritual for Tybolt, one which he completed every day without fail. There was, however, more to it than simply watching the sunrise.

"I am Tybolt Lannister. I am a Lion and a Lion bows to none except his own." Tybolt whispered.

He had said these words since the day he was taken from his home, since before he had even laid eyes upon this great, Northern castle. The words had become Tybolt's mantra, the anchor around which his entire psyche and personality had been built and remoulded since that fateful day ten years ago. But it was only on his first morning in Winterfell, as the sun began to poke its iridescent fingers over the hills, that he had finally understood the words his father had said to him.

"Our pride has tasted defeat. Our pride has been humiliated by simpletons and simpering fools. Our pride has been betrayed. Our pride has served lesser men. But one day, one day soon, we will rise with a fury unmatched by any living being and we will crush our enemies – and they will know death. And the Lion _will _be free. This I swear on the Seven." he growled to himself.

Now that the sun had risen and he had finished saying his oaths, Tybolt rose from his seat at the window and descended the spiralling stairs to his room. As he did so the castle began to come to life, shrugging off the moroseness that suffocated it at night and ushering in the warmth and joy that seemed to accompany each new day, even here in the North. Servants began to fill the corridors, hurrying along along on their errands, cooks carried food to the kitchens, heaped so precariously in their arms it looked as if the pile would topple over at any second. Even the sounds of a hammer striking an anvil came drifting up from the courtyards. As he reached his room, Tybolt reached out and grabbed a servant, commanding her in a gentle yet firm voice to bring hot water for a bath. With a quick curtsey and with her cheeks reddening, the young serving girl hurried off to complete her task.

Closing the door behind him, Tybolt smiled to himself; he he had the same effect on almost every girl he spoke to. His devilishly handsome face with his chiselled jawline, high cheekbones and aquiline nose, coupled with his emerald-green eyes and shoulder-length wavy hair which shone like beaten gold (standard Lannister features really), sent shivers down girls' spines and impure thoughts into their heads when he turned his piercing gaze upon them. He was tall too, and as strong as a bull; at just ten and six years of age, he already stood as tall as Lord Stark (though the man wasn't small, neither was he a giant) and his appearance was made even more impressive by his heavily muscled body, honed almost to perfection by years of relentless training in the practice yard. He could quite easily be mistaken for an angel, and one visiting Septon had even said that he resembled the Warrior.

As he stood, thinking about his effect on the fairer sex, there was a timid knock at the door. Opening it, the serving girl was revealed, holding in her hands a large pitcher full of hot water water, and, standing behind her, were four more serving girls, each one bearing identical pitchers, all filled to the brim with steaming hot water. He stood aside to allow them in and watched them with an appraising and salacious eye as they bent over to fill the bathtub.

"_Tyrion would be proud!" _Tybolt thought to himself, laughing inwardly. Tyrion's exploits and fondness for whores had been a recurring part of his father's frequent letters, which were always accompanied by an urging from Tywin to stay away from the ones in Winterfell, lest he dishonour the family name as Tyrion had supposedly done. Frankly, Tybolt couldn't see why his father got so irate about it and thought that Tyrion's proclivity to indulge in more hedonistic pursuits sounded rather amusing.

Once they had finished their task, they stood together staring at Tybolt, with dreamy expressions painted across their faces. Smirking, he held the door open for them, clearing his throat loudly; they snapped out of their daze almost instantly and, making a beeline for the door, left the room, giggling to each other. Now that he was finally alone, Tybolt stripped off his nightclothes and climbed into the bath, exhaling loudly as the hot water soothed his muscles. After soaking for half an hour, Tybolt washed himself with scented soap, then promptly climbed back out and dried himself. His body dry, he then proceeded to wash and then shave his face before turning to his wardrobe.

He briskly dressed himself in a white linen shirt, a crimson surcoat embroidered with gold thread (a name-day gift from his father) and supple leather riding trousers, dyed a rich burgundy colour. Then he pulled on a pair of silk socks and then over that, he pulled on a pair of black, fur-lined boots. Standing up, he swung a black moleskin half-cape lined with white ermine fur, over his left shoulder. Yet despite the warmth of the clothes he was wearing, he would still feel the cold bite of the summer snows which had covered Winterfell and the surrounding area like a blanket for the past three weeks.

After a quick glance in his looking-glass to make sure that he was looking respectable, he fastened the clasp of his cape (a lion's head fashioned from gold) and walked out of his room and down to where Lord Stark's family would be breaking their fast, looking for all the world as if he was already the Lord of the West.

…

Before Tybolt had even entered the Great Hall, he could hear the cacophony that always seemed to accompany any news brought to Winterfell that was of considerable significance. Walking in, he headed straight for the High Table to his usual seat next to Lord Stark's heir, Robb, and his bastard, Jon Snow.

"Morning!" Tybolt said cheerfully to the two boys, before pulling out his chair to sit down. Just as he was doing so, however, he saw that Sansa was sitting at the table with her friend, Jeyne.

"Good morning milady. I hope you slept well?" he said with a smile and a slight inclination of his head.

At his greeting, Sansa nodded, mumbled something incoherent and, blushing furiously, turned to Jeyne and began a hushed conversation with many furtive looks at Tybolt and many, many giggles from Jeyne. For Tybolt, women had never evoked anything more than base desire – something which he had satisfied with a kitchen maid the year previously. Sansa, however, was the exception. When Tybolt had first come to Winterfell, it was Sansa who had comforted him when he felt lonely or scared. Their shared faith in the Seven had served to bring them closer together, but a few years ago when Sansa had begun to grow into her womanhood, they had grown apart; this was, as far as Tybolt could tell, because she had developed feelings for him which were far from platonic. Indeed, Tybolt had also developed feelings for her which went beyond simple friendship.

And yet, despite the fact that they now conversed with a distance akin to that of strangers or passing acquaintances, Tybolt harboured the thought that one day in the future, Sansa would make a good wife and further still, a good Lady of the West; she was after all, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

Shaking himself from his reverie, he sat and nodded at a servant who went scurrying away to the kitchens to fetch the young lord's breakfast. The signal appeared to have initiated a flurry of activity and servants came out of the kitchens with food balanced in their hands. Tybolt's breakfast (which had remained essentially the same for the last three years) consisted of a bowl of piping hot porridge, one boiled egg, three pieces of crisp bacon, two pieces of bread toasted over the fire and a flagon of cold milk to wash it all down.

Beginning his meal, Tybolt carefully ate a spoonful of porridge before turning to Robb.

"What's all this fuss about then?" he asked.

"It would seem," Robb said grimly, "that my father's men have captured a deserter from the Night's Watch. We will ride out within the hour to see justice brought upon him."

Tybolt nodded slowly; he had watched several men lose their heads for breaking their sacred vows, and the thought of seeing another man die did not disturb him in the slightest. As he ate, he thought back to the first time he had seen a man die. It was two years after he came to Winterfell and the man was a deserter from the Wall. He had begged Lord Stark to have mercy, even kissed his boots, but Lord Stark had remained impassive throughout the charade and taken the man's head soon after. Tybolt had garnered a new-found respect for the Northern lord after that.

…

After an hours riding through the snow, the small party consisting of Lord Stark, his guards, his three eldest sons (Robb, Jon and Bran) and Tybolt, came to where the deserter was being held. As the man was led out and Lord Stark began the same, droning speech that he made every time before he brought the King's Justice to someone, Tybolt zoned out and cast his mind back to the somewhat cryptic raven he had received two days ago from his brother Tyrion.

_**Be careful brother. I have a terrible feeling that everything is about to change, and it may not all be for the better. Keep yourself safe.**_

_**Your loving brother,**_

_**Tyrion**_

"_Whatever it means, it must be serious for Tyrion to be so short and sombre." _Tybolt pondered. _"I should heed his warning though. He was always the cleverest of -"_ Tybolt's thoughts were interrupted by a loud, wet 'Thwack', as Lord Stark brought his greatsword down on the man's neck. _"He was quicker than usual." _Tybolt mused with a wry smile.

Looking around, Tybolt saw Jon quietly talking to Bran, most likely reassuring him. Robb had on his 'Lord's face' and sat on his horse stoically and unflinching. Lord Stark had given his greatsword, Ice, to the captain of his guard and mounted his horse.

"Send the head and body back to the Wall." he said, turning his head to the soldiers before leading his party back the way they came.

…

After another half an hour's riding, the party came to a long but narrow stone bridge, spanning a small gorge. Robb pulled his horse up beside Tybolt and looked at him with a grin, any and all hints of his grim composure gone.

"Race you to the other side?" he said excitedly.

Tybolt flashed a grin back. "What's the point Robb? You know you can't win!"

Robb smirked in response. "Oh yes? We'll see about that!" he said, spurring his horse into a gallop.

Following suit, with a determined grin on his face, Tybolt urged his horse forward, digging in his heels and sending up clouds of white snow behind him. Robb's horse was also sending plumes of snowy powder into the sky, but he was simply unable to keep his lead, such was the speed at which Tybolt rode. Like a crimson arrow, Tybolt shot past Robb and over the end of the bridge. Tybolt's racing heart had already slowed by the time Robb pulled his horse up next to him.

"Damn you Tybolt! How do you do it?!" he panted.

"Well," Tybolt said with a cocky smile, "all that did was finally prove that the Lion is better than the Wolf!"

"Direwolf." Robb said with a disgruntled look. "And when we get back to Winterfell, I'll show you how a Stark fights!" he said, pride showing on his face at the mention of his House.

Tybolt smirked but quickly frowned when he saw that Robb was staring at something behind him.

"What is it?" Tybolt said as he turned. "What are you..." he said, his voice trailing off as he saw exactly what it was.

Lying on the snow, was a huge animal with a stag's antler in its neck, staining the snow around it red with blood. At first glance it looked like a normal wolf, but upon further inspection, and seeing the long snout and long legs, Tybolt knew with a cold certainty what the animal was.

"A direwolf." he whispered reverently. As he stared at it, the rest of the party came up behind them. Lord Stark dismounted and knelt next to the direwolf.

"It's dead." he said.

"What should we do with it?" Robb asked.

"Nothing. We leave it." Lord Stark replied. "We need to get back to Winterfell. Let us go." he said as he stood.

But Tybolt had heard a faint mewling and followed the sound, straining his ears as hard as he could. Cresting a small rise in the ground, he caught sight of five little pups lying in a small hollow.

"Lord Stark!" he called. "You will want to see this." As he spoke, Robb and Bran had joined Tybolt and, upon seeing the little pups, rushed towards them and picked them up.

"Direwolf pups father! Can we keep them?" Robb asked. His father looked as if he wanted to say no, but he relented.

"Very well. But you will feed them yourselves, train them yourselves and if they die, you will bury them yourselves." he said with finality. Turning around, he re-mounted his horse and set off for Winterfell.

…

It was when they returned that Tybolt instantly felt something was wrong. Lady Catelyn was looking at him with more hostility than she usually did and she had a protective arm around Rickon, as if something or someone was going to hurt him. As they dismounted and the stable hands led the horses away, she strode over to them.

"Ned. I'm sorry. A raven came from King's Landing. Jon Arryn is dead. I'm so sorry Ned." she said. Then, taking a breath she continued. "Robert is coming north. To Winterfell. He intends to name you Hand." At that, Ned's expression darkened briefly. "And...and there's something else. Something from my sister." she said, casting a sidelong glance at Tybolt.

Getting the message quickly, he bowed his head and walked away, leaving them alone.

"_Something is very wrong. Something is very, very wrong." _Tybolt thought darkly.

**Tregun: Tybolt was born in the same year as Robb Stark. I could be wrong but I think that Daenerys would be about the same age as Tybolt and Robb; however, a marriage between Tybolt and Daenerys would be impossible given her hatred for anything even remotely Lannister. I have thought about marrying him to Margaery (the Reach and the West would be quite formidable together), but whether anything happens...you'll have to wait and see. :)**

**Iltalian: Thanks! He rebelled because he was arrogant and thought that he could win against Robert, who in his view was an inexperienced boy. Jaime was a member of the Kingsguard so he would be fine – he has Tybolt as his heir – and he knows (or thinks) that Cersei would be unharmed because of Jon Arryn.**

**Guest(s): Tybolt will (hopefully) end up as a mixture of his father, Jaime and Tyrion; he will have honour but nowhere near as much as Eddard (just enough to think twice before slaughtering people at an inappropriate place – hint, hint). But no, he won't end up anything like Theon.**

**Hi guys, I am so sorry for not updating for so long but I have been really busy with family stuff, so yeah... not much of an excuse but anyway. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Leave a comment telling me what you think!**


	3. Chapter II

_Three weeks later..._

Since the fateful day that the raven had come from King's Landing bearing not only the news of Jon Arryn's death, but also the news that his father was journeying north with the King to Winterfell, Tybolt had been training in the practice yard harder than ever; having been unable to see his father for almost a decade, as his heir he desperately wanted to impress him – being in peak physical condition could certainly do no harm. It was because of this that Tybolt was sweating away in the yard, hacking and slashing at Robb, who desperately held his shield above his head in a paltry attempt to hold back Tybolt's onslaught; it did little to stop the crashing blows from Tybolt which splintered the wood, sending shards flying into every corner of the courtyard, and sparks flying from the metal boss at the centre of the shield when Tybolt's sword struck it. Beginning to feel the strain after fifteen solid minutes of sparring, Tybolt summoned all the remaining vestiges of his strength and, with a mighty roar, raised his leg and kicked the centre of the shield with all his might, sending Robb flying several feet backwards.

"Not bad Stark." Tybolt panted, bending over at the waist and grabbing his knees to catch his breath. "Not bad for you that is!" he added with a wry grin, as he straightened up, still panting.

"Fuck off Tybolt." Robb huffed, as he picked up the twisted, shattered remains of his shield, causing Tybolt to give a short barking laugh once he saw Robb's disgruntled face. "Why don't you go and find a whore to dip your wick in, you pillock."

Recovering from another bout of laughter, Tybolt replied in typical sardonic fashion; "Why Robb, I do believe you have confused me with my dear brother Tyrion! Surprising given the difference in our height!" At that, a loud laugh came from the corner of the courtyard. Turning to see who it was, the voice spoke before they had a chance to say anything more.

"He beat you well and good Robb, didn't he! Gods but you have a lot more training to do before you could even _dream_ of beating us!" Jon said with a laugh.

"That he does Jon, that he does. And, when my family finally arrives, you'll be able to tell the difference between me and Tyrion!" he said, both he and Jon cracking up with laughter at the last remark.

"Oh ha-ha, very funny. Laugh at poor Robb why don't you." Robb grumbled.

Barely recovering from the last remark, Tybolt, quick as ever, quipped back; "Why, I think we will!", sending both he and Jon into yet another fit of laughter. This time though, Robb cracked a smile, and shook his head. Robb's poor insults coupled with his recurrent confusion of Tybolt's character with that of his brother Tyrion had been the cause of many a joke between the boys as they grew up, and Jon and Tybolt had both promised Robb never to let him forget it.

"Fine then, laugh if you must. But-" Robb began, before being cut off by a cry from above.

"The King! The King is coming! He can't be more than an hour's ride away!" the voice shouted. Shielding their eyes from the sun as they looked up, they saw that it was Bran, balancing precariously on the top of the First Tower. As he began to climb down, the three brothers-in-arms turned back to each other.

"Well." said Tybolt. "You may see the difference sooner than you thought" he said with a grin.

…

Just over an hour and a half later, Tybolt stood in the courtyard next to Robb, waiting for the King to arrive. As was expected of the noble children, they were all dressed in their finest raiment; Tybolt wore his usual garb, a crimson doublet with golden lion heads for buttons, black leather trousers, knee-high brown leather boots and an ermine fur-lined crimson half cape fastened with a golden lion brooch; Robb wore much the same as Tybolt, though in place of the doublet, he wore a brown leather jerkin with grey direwolf heads for buttons and instead of a half cape, he wore a long grey cloak; Jon, as per usual, wore all black leather, though he was stood towards the back of the party (to openly present a bastard to a king would cause great offence – even if the presenter were a great friend of the king); Sansa wore a beautiful, form-fitting and elegant Tully-blue dress with simple white sleeves that highlighted her developing womanly curves; Lord Stark wore the same as Robb and Lady Stark wore much the same as her daughter Sansa, a Tully-red sash around her waist being the only difference. Bran and Rickon both stood in line wearing, again, the same as Robb and their father. They all stood together, quietly waiting for the King. All except Lady Catelyn that is – she, of course, stood anxiously peering around the courtyard for any sign of her unruly daughter, the little rascal that was Arya Stark.

"Where is she Ned?!" she said anxiously. "She cannot be late for the arrival of the King! It would not reflect well upon our family!" she said insistently, tugging gently on her husband's arm.

"Quiet Cat, I'm sure she'll turn up soon." Ned replied firmly. As he said that, Arya came running into the courtyard with a helmet on her head, and ran straight to her place in the line next to Bran; before she got there, however, Ned stopped her, took the helmet off her and passed it back to Ser Rodrik Cassel. Catelyn then quickly pushed Arya's hair behind her ears and wiped a bit of dirt off her nose before pushing her towards Bran.

"There. I told you she'd turn up Cat. You worry too much." Ned said to Catelyn a frustrated look passing across his face, just moments before the clatter of iron-shod hooves began to echo around the courtyard.

From the moment he could hear the horses, Tybolt strained his neck to try and see the procession, a decade's worth of anticipation for seeing his family again almost released; and then, after an agonisingly long wait (or rather what felt like one – in reality the wait only lasted a few minutes) he saw them. The King. And his father.

They rode together at the forefront of the long, lumbering procession, dressed resplendently in the colours of their respective houses, sitting astride great destriers that snorted in the cold air and shook their manes with impatience and stamped their hooves on the cold stone cobble of the courtyard. Robert looked exactly as Tyrion had described him in his letters; he was tall, fat and his red-face was half covered in a thick bushy black beard, yet he exuded an atmosphere of power and strength, despite his gargantuan size. Dressed in the finest silks and animal pelts, sweating away underneath the many layers he was a shadow of his former glorious self. But it was not just amusement Tybolt had for Robert; as he looked upon the man who had torn him from his family and sent him to freeze in the cold North, bile began to rise in his throat as the repressed hatred of his _King_ began to bubble up and boil over. As the emotions he had felt since that fateful day began to overwhelm him, Tybolt's hand moved slowly towards his sword as his lip curled in anger. Just seconds before his hand reached the hilt, he caught the eye of his father who was staring intently at him; feeling the warning in his father's gaze, Tybolt shook himself from his anger before he could do something he would no doubt regret.

"_Careful, Tybolt. His time will come. Be calm. You are a Lannister of Casterly Rock; do not bring disgrace to the family." _Tybolt thought to himself. In an attempt to keep his temper, Tybolt took the chance to see his father properly for the first time in ten years.

Tywin, was everything that Tybolt had thought his father would look like. Tall, strong, handsome for his age, and a stern look upon his face, Tywin Lannister was everything that Tybolt thought a Great Lord should look like. What he wore was almost the complete opposite to Robert; he wore a crimson hardened leather cuirass embossed with a roaring golden lion's head, crimson leather pauldrons, again embossed with a roaring golden lion's head on each shoulder, a black steel gorget, red steel vambraces, gauntlets and greaves, all inlaid with gold and then, finally, a flowing crimson cloak, hung around his shoulders that was so long it covered his charger's rump. He was, in Tybolt's eyes, magnificent.

Then came the rest of the procession, with all the pomp and circumstance that was to be expected from a royal visit. Hundreds of fluttering banners, all straining to be the highest, to be seen, all a multitude of colours and emblems, filling the dreary grey walls of Winterfell with life and cheer, the clatter and noise of a hundred hooves, the jangling of the armour and swords and shields of a hundred knights and outriders and sworn swords – and as soon as Robert reigned in his horse, it all fell silent. So deathly silent that Tybolt almost felt that he could hear the blood rushing through his veins as he watched the great big oaf of a king step down from his horse onto a wooden block, unable to dismount his horse like any other man because of his great size and weight; Tywin's graceful dismount almost made Tybolt laugh at the gaping difference between the two men.

Robert's approach though, quickly made Tybolt mask his mirth and put on a cold, stony expression that betrayed no emotion, one that his father would no doubt be proud of. As Robert stomped towards Eddard, the Lord of Winterfell knelt before his king, followed by everyone else in the Stark retinue. As he knelt, Tybolt raised his eyes to the King and saw him motion with his hand, causing Eddard to stand, followed quickly by everyone else.

Robert looked Ned up and down as if inspecting a statue, before speaking.

"You've got fat." he said.

Ned looked down at Robert's bulging stomach and then back to his eyes, as if he was mocking him. There was a brief, tenses silence, until Robert burst out laughing.

"Nine long years Ned! Where have you been?" Robert said, placing his hands on Ned's shoulders before pulling him into an embrace.

"Guarding the North for you, Your Grace. Winterfell is yours." Ned replied with a smile. Robert chuckled and went to embrace Catelyn.

"Cat! It's good to see you!" Robert said.

He moved down the line to Robb and looked him up and down. "You must be Robb. Good lad." he said before moving on to Tybolt.

"Gods, another bloody Lannister. Tyben, isn't it?" he asked.

"Tybolt, Your Grace." Tybolt replied with a small smirk. Robert only grunted in reply and moved down the line, greeting each of the Starks in turn, before he turned back to Eddard.

"Take me to your crypts Ned, I want to pay my respects." he said gruffly.

It had gone unnoticed to Tybolt that his sister Cersei had exited the wheelhouse and had approached the line herself, so Tybolt almost jumped when she spoke.

"We have been travelling for a month my love, surely the dead can wait." she said.

Robert merely cast her a look of distaste before speaking again. "Ned." he grunted, before walking off towards the crypts.

Robert's callous treatment of his wife, of Tybolt's sister, almost made Tybolt lose his temper again, as his anger flared up at the disrespectful way his family had just been publicly treated. Tybolt, however, managed to stop himself from saying anything and stayed quiet until Robert and Ned had left. Once they had, and the rest of the King's retinue had begun to disperse, Tybolt walked towards his father, a smile upon his face, ready to greet the family that he had been separated from for ten years.

"Father!" Tybolt said as he stopped in front of his father. "Mere words cannot describe how happy I am to see you again!" he said, the hint of a tear beginning to well up in Tybolt's eyes. Oddly enough, Tywin's eyes were also glistening.

"My son. You are a man grown." Tywin said with a smile. "You look like a true Lannister." he continued. Tywin began to walk into the castle and towards where his chambers were, and gestured for Tybolt to follow him. "I am very much looking forward to hearing about your life here at Winterfell Tybolt. I am interested to know how you have found being away from your true home at Casterly Rock." he said, looking to Tybolt to see what his reply would be.

"And I am very much looking forward to telling you about it." Tybolt replied.

"Good." said Tywin. "But that can come later. Right now, I wish to bathe and change my clothes, we can speak after this infernal feast we're having thrown in our honour." he said. "Oh and Tybolt, one more thing." he said, stopping Tybolt who had begun to walk away. "I have a gift for you. Though it'll have to wait for your nameday when we return to the capital; I do believe Lord Stark will be bringing you with him as his ward. And, if you're anything like what my...informants...have told me, you are sure to like it." he said. Seeing that Tybolt had acknowledged what he said, he began to ascend the stairs to his chambers.

"Father -" Tybolt called out. Tywin stopped and turned to look at his son and heir. "It...it is good to see you after such a long time. It is good to see you all." he said, a small, single tear running down his cheek.

Tywin smiled and nodded his head. "It is good to see you too my son."

**Hi everyone, it's me again! I cannot apologise more for how long it has taken me to write this chapter but I have just started sixth form and I have been completely swamped with work and a teeny weeny bit of procrastination. I am so, so sorry about this, but now that it is the Christmas holidays I am going to try and write as much as I can for the story, same goes for "A True Baratheon". **

**Anyway guys, I hope you liked it, leave a comment telling me what you think and where I can improve. Also, I wasn't too sure about the way in which Tybolt met his family. Should I re-write it? **

**I'll do my best to get another chapter out by the end of the month, it'll be longer than this one hopefully, or maybe two chapters about the same length as this. **

**Hope you enjoyed it.**


	4. Chapter III

Tybolt stood outside the door to his father's chambers, scuffing his boots on the floor as he waited nervously for his father to call him into the room. Having been summoned by his father a little over an hour before the feast, Tybolt had been a muddle of emotions on his way to meet his father properly since his arrival in Winterfell. Nervousness, excitement, love and, oddly enough, anger, all filled him in equal measure; the anger that Tybolt felt for his father came only because he thought that his father had not fought hard enough in his rebellion, the failure of which resulted in Tybolt's current situation in Winterfell. However, the trepidation he had for the reunion, and any animosity that Tybolt felt for his father, evaporated the second the door was opened and he saw his father standing in front of him, a smile upon his face.

"Tybolt! Come in, come in." Tywin said as he stood back to allow his son access to the room.

"Thank you father." he replied, walking into the middle of the room.

"Would you like a drink?" his father asked, raising in eyebrows in question.

"Oh...oh why not. Yes." Tybolt said as he stood awkwardly in the centre of the room. "Please." he added hastily, eliciting a smirk from his father.

"Sit. There is no need to stand on ceremony. You are my son and heir, you do not need to lavish courtesies upon me like everyone else." Tywin said as he gave Tybolt a chalice of wine before sitting in the chair opposite his son.

"If you say so father." he replied, taking a sip of his wine.

Tywin sat in his chair, looking at his son, saying nothing. His piercing gaze, although uncomfortable for Tybolt, scrutinised every aspect of his body, as if Tywin was judging whether or not his son was worthy of the family; whether he was worthy of Casterly Rock.

"You have the build of a warrior. Much like Jaime." he said finally after several minutes. "What remains to be seen, however," he continued. "is whether you have the same intellectual capacity you had before you were brought here. For all his faults, and all the shame he has brought upon our family, I cannot deny that Tyrion is the most intelligent of my children; he understands how the Game is played. Now, we shall have to see if _you_ do. Come," Tywin said, as he stood. "we shall play cyvasse." he continued, walking over to a small table upon which lay an intricately carved mahogany box which, when opened, was revealed to contain a full set of solid gold cyvasse pieces. Upon closer inspection, Tybolt could see that all the pieces, bar the dragon, had the Lannister sigil carved into their chests and shields. The craftsmanship of the set was incredible and of such a high calibre that Tybolt's mouth fell open a bit, eliciting a small chuckle from Tywin.

"Beautiful isn't it," Tywin said. "From the goldsmiths at Casterly Rock."

Tybolt nodded. "It is the finest thing I have ever seen." he said in wonder.

"It's yours. If you can beat me." Tywin said with a predatory smile as he seated himself. Tybolt grinned and promptly sat himself in the chair opposite his father, watching silently as he set his pieces out on the board.

"I assume you know how to play." Tywin said, not looking up from the board.

"Of course." Tybolt replied. He had learnt the game from a travelling knight, a man from the Reach, and he had played several times with Robb, but he was still doubtful that he could beat his father.

"_Gods, this will be hard." _Tybolt thought. _"Well, I'll give it me all. I hope that's all it'll take."_

Tybolt set his pieces up in a similar way to his father. _"'Always watch the eyes', that's what the knight said. 'The body can lie but the eyes always betray you'." _Tybolt thought as watched his father assess the board before making his move. Once his father had moved a piece, Tybolt thought a minute before moving one of his own. Before he did so, however, he heard a faint whisper and turned his head to see where it had come from. His sharp eyes swept across the room, searching for the source of the sound but found nothing.

"Tybolt? Is something wrong?" his father asked curiously.

"No father. I thought I heard something that's all." he replied, turning back to the game and moving a piece forward.

"_Wrong move." _the voice whispered as softly as a breath of wind. Tybolt shook his head gently to get rid of the thought, but as he did so he saw his father grin and move his dragon to take Tybolt's king.

"I win." his father said. "You should not have moved that piece where you did. It would have been better to take this piece here." Tywin continued, gesturing towards one of his pieces. "That would have stopped me from moving my dragon there. You should have sacrificed your piece to win the game."

"_The voice was right. If it was a voice at all. It must just be my nerves around father. It must be. Mustn't it?" _Tybolt thought before shaking his head and taking a sip of his wine. _"It's the nerves." _he assured himself before leaning forward again.

"Again." he said, collecting his pieces and repositioning them on the board.

Tywin raised an eyebrow. "So soon?" he asked. He looked outside briefly and saw that the sun had not yet begun to set. "Very well. We have time for one more game; the feast begins at sundown." he said, doing the same as Tybolt did and positioned his pieces in the same way as before. When he was ready, he looked up at his son.

"Shall we begin?"

…

One hour later the last of the sun's rays filled Tywin's room with light, making the walls look as if they were made of pure gold, as Tybolt moved his king forward, securing his victory over his father. Tybolt laughed, a radiant smile spread across his face, as his father cursed and slumped back in his seat.

"Well Father? Was that a win or was that a win?!" he laughed.

Tywin shook his head, the hint of a smile flitting across his face. "You learn fast." he said. "It was a good win. But we will play more. You must learn strategy if you are to be Lord of the West." he continued as he stood up to refill his chalice.

"I still beat you though." Tybolt quipped back, the elation of victory still riding high with him. He too stood and held his chalice out to be filled. His father shook his head.

"No. The feast will begin soon and you cannot embarrass our house by drinking yourself into oblivion, as our esteemed king will no doubt do." Tywin admonished.

Tybolt sighed. "Yes Father." He walked back to the table and turned once more to Tywin. "So the set is now mine?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes." his father replied. "Do not lose it. Or gamble it away. Oh and one more thing." Tywin continued.

"Yes Father?" Tybolt asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"The cyvasse set is not your nameday gift. No, what I have in mind is of far greater value and importance. I have searched for it since the day I became Lord of Casterly Rock. You will get the first part of it soon. Mayhap on the morrow. I do not doubt that it will leave you speechless as it did me." he said with a gentle smile. "Anyhow, you should ready yourself for the feast. It will start in a short while." he continued as Tybolt finished gathering the pieces up and placing them into the box.

Realising that he had been dismissed by his father, Tybolt nodded curtly, turned on his heel and walked out of the room with the cyvasse box under his arm, making his way to his own chambers. As he walked back, he stopped by a window that looked out onto the training yard where he could see Robb and Jon sparring together. He chuckled as he saw Jon knock Robb backwards, before he glimpsed a streak of red below him. Turning his gaze to the source, he saw Sansa.

"_Sansa. Beautiful Sansa. Gods how I wish you were mine."_ Tybolt pined, as his throat began to choke up and a small tear began to form in his eye. Tybolt could not explain the love he had for her, but he knew that it was more than simple lust – though that was certainly a part of it. That was why he was somewhat surprised when he realised why King Robert had come to Winterfell; not only to ask Lord Stark to be his Hand, but also to arrange a marriage with his eldest son and Sansa; Robert's obsession with the Stark family could only have led him to this, something that Tybolt should have recognised, and yet the fury he had felt when he had come to that revelation had quite frankly frightened him – he knew the stories about the origins of Robert's Rebellion and the death and destruction that had come with the passion of its origins; he knew that he should forget about her, that he should move on from her and that he should do whatever he could to get rid of his infatuation with her, but Tybolt knew that what he felt for Sansa was more than just infatuation. Shaking himself from his daydreaming and wiping the tear from his eye, Tybolt continued on his way.

"_I should not think of her in such a way. It is not becoming to have such thoughts about her, about the girl -no, woman- that I love. I suppose I will have to find a girl to satisfy myself with if I can not have her." _Tybolt thought sadly.

…

On his return to his chambers, he saw a serving girl standing nervously outside his door. He vaguely recognised her before realising that she was the girl who had filled his bath a few weeks ago. A charming smile upon his face he approached the girl.

"My lady." he said, looking at her intently.

Upon seeing him and hearing the courtesy given her, she turned a bright shade of red. Curtseying, the girl stammered out a reply.

"M-m-milord. L-lord St-stark has requested y-your p-presence outside the Great Hall." she stuttered, her ample cleavage heaving. Tybolt looked her up and down, not bothering to hide his interest.

"Immediately?" he asked with a sly grin.

"Y-yes, milord. At once." she said, her long-lashed blue eyes flicking up to Tybolt's face. When she saw he was looking at her with unveiled lust she blushed an even deeper shade of red, a red that matched the fiery colour of her hair.

Tybolt sighed in frustration. "Very well." he said, his annoyance evident. Then, as if an idea had come into his head, he grinned again. "Will you escort me to him my lady? I might get lost on the way there," he said, doing his best to appear innocent.

"O-o-of course milord. F-follow me." she blustered, walking away with her head bowed slightly, exposing the soft white skin of her neck. The sight only inflamed Tybolt's arousal and, coupled with the feeling of power that Tybolt got from her demureness and deference to him, he decided upon a course of action. As they walked past an alcove, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into it, pressing her against the wall and letting his eyes roam across her breasts.

"Milord?!" the girl asked, her voice shocked and yet full of anticipation, almost as if she had been waiting for him to do this.

"I must have you." Tybolt said, his voice heavy with desire. He lowered his hand to her dress, pulling it up and placing his hand upon her thigh, rubbing his thumb gently over her soft skin, eliciting a deep moan from her.

"Milord, we shouldn't! You should not dishonour yours-!" she began, before being cut off as Tybolt pressed his lips to hers, slipping his tongue inside her mouth, causing her to moan once again.

"We should." Tybolt said as he pulled away from her. "Do you consent?" he asked. She nodded quickly after hesitating but a moment, the adoration in her eyes obvious. Tybolt briefly joined their mouths once more, before pulling away again. "Go to my rooms tonight. Wait there until I return from the feast. If you do, I will give you a night you will never forget." he whispered into her ear before walking out of the alcove and continuing on his way to the Great Hall, a smirk on his handsome face.

…

Tybolt sat at the table below the high lords, with all their other children. Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen all sat together at the table, though Joffrey had deemed all but Sansa to be unworthy of his attention and sat next to her, boasting of what were no doubt fake victories. Robb made idle conversation with Myrcella who appeared to be constantly blushing, Arya, Bran and Rickon laughed and joked together and Tommen sat quietly, looking quite overwhelmed. Tybolt sat silently, sipping periodically from his wine, casting Sansa furtive glances every once in a while and feeling his anger surface every time he saw Sansa making moon-eyes at Joffrey.

"_Stupid little blond prick. Sansa thinks the world of him, with his tales of how strong he is and what a good swordsman he is. I could beat him with my eyes closed. Skinny prick."_ Tybolt fumed silently. His soundless anger was disturbed by a small scream and then a laugh from the middle of the hall which, when Tybolt looked to see the origin of the sound, was revealed to be the King grabbing the arse of a serving wench. Shaking his head in mild disgust at the impropriety of the King in public, Tybolt turned his attention to the rest of the room, taking in the sights and smells of the feast, both pleasant and unpleasant.

The banners of the King and his company were hung from the huge rafters of the roof alongside those of the Starks, there were candles in every candle-holder, torches in every bracket, braziers with burning hot coals in every corner and tables laden with so much food that they buckled slightly in the middle. The crispy carcasses of great big boars and deer and oxen dripping with juices and covered with flavoursome herbs and spices lay upon the tables, bowls with soups from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms, platters of roasted vegetables – big onions, long carrots, round potatoes- all dripping with goose fat and covered with seasoning, long trenchers filled with slices of brown and white bread and filled to the brim with thick brown gravy all lay next to the meat, and hundreds upon hundreds of barrels of ale and wine and mead sat on the floor, piled above the men, streams of their contents dripping out from taps mistakenly left open in drunken hazes. The smell of the food wafted through the air, accompanied by the sound of minstrels strumming their lyres and singing, with their sweet voices, songs of great victories and heroes of ages past; the feast was an assault on the senses and gave Tybolt a heady sense of euphoria. He had been to many feasts but none came even close to comparing with this one.

The smell of the food had made Tybolt hungrier than he had realised and so, taking food from every dish, he began to eat as Lady Catelyn took her younger children off to bed. As Tybolt looked over at the children, laughing as he watched Arya's struggles, he caught Catelyn's eye; her eyes seemed to emanate such a hate that Tybolt shrank back slightly in shock. She threw a glance to someone above Tybolt who knew already, without having to turn and look, that she was looking at her husband. Turning anyway, Tybolt saw Eddard nod almost imperceptibly at her before she left the hall; Eddard turned his eyes on Tybolt, the same cold emotionless eyes that he had used so often before, though never on Tybolt – Eddard had only ever looked at people in such a way when he was looking at those who had tried to do his family harm.

"_I must speak to Tyrion. His letter must have something to do with this. That and the raven Catelyn received from King's Landing." _Tybolt mused as he turned back to his plate. Having suddenly lost his appetite, he stood quickly and turned to Eddard.

"If you would excuse me Lord Stark, I am going to get some air." he said with a brief forced smile. Eddard nodded and said nothing, allowing Tybolt to leave.

…

Having left the heated confines of the Great Hall, the icy air that hit him and the sudden change in temperature caused Tybolt to have a sneezing fit. It was because of this that he did not notice the man approaching him.

"Tybolt!" the man half-slurred, half-shouted, clearly tipsy. At the voice, Tybolt whipped around, and when he laid eyes upon the speaker he gave an exclamation of joy.

"Brother!" he exclaimed, gathering Tyrion into a crushing hug and spinning around.

"Oof!" his brother exhaled loudly. ""Put me down! Put me down, damn you!" Tyrion grunted as best he could with the little air he had left in his lungs.

Tybolt laughed as he acquiesced and lowered his brother. Despite himself, Tybolt laughed too. "It is good to see you brother." Tyrion said when they had finally stopped laughing. "How are you?" he continued.

"I am well. What about you?" Tybolt replied.

"Well enough as things go." Tyrion hiccuped. "It has been too long since we last saw each other. I hope that my letters brought you some joy in this place, as majestic as it is." he continued.

"Aye, they did. Though Winterfell does have its charms, cold though they are." Tybolt said with a smile. "In truth, brother, I did wish to speak to you about something else." he began.

"Oh brother can't it wait until tomorrow?" Tyrion moaned. "I'm nearly drunk, I dont wish to speak of serious matters this evening. Please?" Tyrion begged.

Tybolt hesitated a moment before remembering the girl waiting for him in his rooms. "Fine. But we must speak on the morrow." he said. "Though I think, going by your current state, we'll have to wait until the afternoon." he continued with a knowing grin.

Tyrion laughed and began to walk off. "'Til the morrow then brother." he said with a wink.

"Goodnight Tyrion. Try not to drink too much!" Tybolt replied. Tyrion snorted and walked back into the Great Hall.

Deciding to go back to his chambers, Tybolt smiled at his brother's antics and began the walk back. As he passed the doors to the Great Hall, he caught a glimpse of Sansa laughing at something Joffrey had said. He felt a pang in his heart as he realised that she would never do that for him, that she would never love him as she loved Joffrey now, that he would not make her heart beat faster as she did his.

"_Forget her. She can never be yours. Not any more." _Tybolt thought with a sad sigh. His thoughts turned to what awaited him upstairs. Deciding that he would forget his sorrows with her body, he climbed the staircase to his chambers as quickly as propriety would allow him with ever increasing ardour as his thoughts turned to more carnal desires. Upon reaching his rooms, he opened the door and shut it quickly behind him. Looking around, he saw the serving girl stand up quickly having been waiting for him on the edge of his bed.

Upon seeing him enter the room, the girl's breathing had quickened in anticipation of what was going to happen. Her pupils dilated and darkened with desire, a blush crept onto her face and she tugged her dress down slightly, increasing the amount of cleavage that Tybolt could see.

"Milord." she said nervously, though the desire was clear in her voice.

"My lady. I am afraid I don't know your name." Tybolt said as he moved further into his room and began to undress himself.

"Katherine milord." she said. "If it please you that is, milord. You are welcome to call me what you want." she added hastily, casting her eyes down in submission. Tybolt grinned.

"Oh it pleases me very much my lady."

The girl blushed again at his words, but remained where she was until Tybolt had finished undressing and stood only in his britches. He smiled again as he saw her eyes widen and moved towards her, putting his arms around her and leaning down to press his lips to hers. She moaned as Tybolt sought entrance to her mouth with his tongue and squealed as she felt his hand grab her breast, palming it through her dress.

Tybolt pulled away and turned her so that he could unlace the back of her dress, biting her neck gently and sucking on the soft skin as he did so, eliciting yet another groan from her. His hands deftly undid the string and tugged her dress down below her breasts, letting it pool onto the floor. He took her creamy breasts in each hand and kneaded them softly, groaning into her neck as he felt himself harden at the sound of her moans. Tybolt turned her back around to face him and begun to trail kisses down her body, taking each nipple into his mouth in turn, sucking gently on them until she whimpered in response. He kissed her down until her mound and then switched to her thighs, kissing up each one, leaving for the next when he came tantalizingly close to her slit.

"Please milord! Lick me there!" she begged.

Tybolt grinned wolfishly and did as he asked. She cried out in pleasure as he licked her, lapping up her juices until she came in ecstasy, quivering beneath his touch. He stood and pushed her back onto the bed, unlacing his britches and stepping out of them. Katherine gasped when she saw the size and hardness of his manhood and raised a hand to her mouth in shock.

"M-milord! Are you sure you will fit?" she gasped.

"We'll just have to see, won't we?" he grinned back. "Come here." he commanded. She obeyed him immediately, crawling slowly forward on his bed, swaying her wide hips seductively. Tybolt growled with arousal and, when she reached him, took her head in his hands. "Take me in your mouth." he said, his voice wavering slightly. Katherine looked uncertain but did as she was told and engulfed his member with her soft lips. Tybolt groaned loudly with pleasure as she began to move her mouth up and down his length, gagging slightly when it reached the back of her throat but continued despite it. She went faster and faster, bringing Tybolt ever closer to his release, but just before he reached it, Tybolt pulled out and pushed her back onto the bed.

Crawling forward on top of her, he guided himself to her entrance and slid his whole length into her in one smooth stroke, gasping at the pleasure of her tightness and causing her to cry out in pain as he broke her maidenhead.

"_Well that was unexpected. I didn't think she was a maiden. At least not when she showed such skill with her mouth. No matter."_ he thought, a salacious smile spreading across his face. _"She's not any more." _

Tybolt stayed still inside her as she adjusted to his member, pressing kisses to her mouth and neck and breasts as he waited, getting small whimpers from her as he did so.

"Is this pain gone?" he asked after a minute.

"Yes milord." she nodded demurely. He gave her a small smile and began to rock his hips, thrusting inside her, the sheer ecstasy of her tightness making him breathless. As he continued to grind his hips against hers, he reached his hand down, looking for the small nub that gave girls so much pleasure. After a few seconds she gave a loud cry, causing Tybolt to grin in triumph.

"_Found it."_

He rubbed her there, bringing forth gasps and moans and whimpers in ever increasing number until she crested her wave of pleasure and came undone around him, her walls clenching and unclenching as she thrashed around underneath him. Having brought her to climax twice now, Tybolt turned his mind to his own pleasure and flipped her round onto her stomach, sliding himself back into her and beginning to pump away hard. He pulled her back to meet him as he thrust forward, pounding against her rear and reaching around her to grab her large, creamy breasts, kneading them in his hands, grunting into her hair as he began to reach his peak. A few more thrusts and he came to his release, spilling his seed inside her, groaning with pleasure and panting from the exertion.

"Sansa" he whispered into the girl's hair, so quiet that he could barely hear it himself, but he knew that he had said it; it was too quiet for Katherine to hear. He rolled off her and lay panting on his back, basking in the ecstasy of the afterglow of his coupling. Katherine looked just as sated, yet she looked at him nervously.

"Should I stay milord?" she asked quietly, ever submissive.

Tybolt raised his head and looked at her for a brief moment, before gesturing to her. "Come here. You can stay the night." he said, still panting. Her eyes lit up, the love she had for him evident in her eyes, and she snuggled close to him, resting her head upon his chest and sighed contentedly. Tybolt absentmindedly played with her hair as he began to drift off into his slumber, but he had one thought before he succumbed to his weariness.

"_If only Katherine were Sansa."_

**Lone wolf... : Not going to happen, sorry. Tybolt was raised by Ned so at least some of his honour has rubbed off on him (we'll see just how much later on), and Cersei still loves Jaime so I highly doubt she would have anything but familial love for him – though that is quite warped with the Lannisters ;)**

**Lord of Carrion: Thank you! That's what I'm aiming for. After all, Tyrion didn't kill Joanna in childbirth, she died of a fever, so I assume that he would have far less hatred towards him.**

**Haoshoku Dragon: Thanks!**

**DeusImperator92: No problem, sorry it took so long.**

**LupaTiz: Yeah I know sorry, I hope this makes up for it!**

**Kaioo: , Cersei still married Robert. Did I write that she didn't?! Please tell me if I did, I can't seem to see anywhere that says she didn't. **

** 2. I agree, Tywin did have a point, though the Red Wedding was still a giant middle finger from GRRM.**

** 3. Thank you. Me too.**

**Hi guys, me again, thanks so much for the reviews, favourites and follows for the last chapter, it means a lot to me. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, its almost twice the length of the last one, though I was a bit unsure as to whether I should have the last scene in it, but it's in now so in it will stay. Should something come from the tryst? You know, something bastard-y? **

**I don't know, leave a comment telling me what you thought of the chapter and your thoughts on my question and please, please, please tell me if there are any spelling mistakes, I hate reading things that have spelling mistakes. Also, tell me if I write in anyone that shouldn't be there, I might get a bit confused.**

**I probably won't do any work on this for a week because I go back to school tomorrow and the first week is always busy. Besides, I need to do more work on A True Baratheon, I've neglected it for too long.**

**I know this was more of a filler chapter, but it was necessary. Kudos to anyone who can guess what Tybolt's gift will be. Thanks for reading!**


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